Validation
by VillainousVexation
Summary: PreMovie. The man in room Five becomes V.


(no one one no where nowhere now here all alone in this skull left me here to die by myself bastard bastard to leave me here to die in this broken corpse)

He was in one of those glass boxes; he had known where he was going as soon as they slipped the now-familiar black bag over his head. He hadn't fought; tied down as he was, it would have been a waste of energy.

(who who is the form following the function of what what what what where when why why why there is no answer no answer to why)

They had sedated him three days ago, after even threats and violence could not stop him from racing around his cell, frantically cracking his skull against the wall in a panicked attempt to either jar the dead man awake, or join him in oblivion. He had welcomed it, for the first time in his remembered life. Anything to stop the remaining pieces of his brain from screaming in his ear.

(who who no one anonymity no one dead gone escaped fled goodbye i die suicide not even that all alone in here all alone no one else is human there is no one nothing just me and fear and pain and darkness and the doctors)

So he sat in the glass box, plunged into darkness by the bag still covering his head. His hands were securely tied behind his back. He was slumped against the glass, slick with what he hoped was sweat. The new injection hadn't had any effects yet. The moans and screams of people (subjects) in the boxes beside him barely registered. The screams in his own head seemed to drown everything else out.

(no one dead dead suicide gone forever gone for good forgone)

It had been three days since he had lost whoever had formerly been living in his mind. Three days. He hadn't tried to find that man. He couldn't. All he could do was repeat the same phrases over and over. Sometimes he laughed until he vomited from the pain. Sometimes he screamed until they came and sedated him. For two days, it hadn't really mattered.

(Valerie)

The third day he had awoken from the sedatives. He had lain there, debating if he had enough strength to figure out a way to kill himself.

Then he had heard a noise that had nothing to do with violence or torture. He had followed the noise, forcing his weak and woozy limbs to move towards it, dragging his body along the floor until he reached the noise. A small hole in the wall. A rat. Without thinking, he had stuck his hand in, if only to make contact with a creature that did not desire to see him dead or screaming. He had found one.

In the glass box, hidden behind the black bag, he smiled. His thoughts began to focus slightly, like they had when he had found the letter in the hole in the wall, when he had read it over and over until they came to take him away. He knew every word, every line, and knew that she had given him a piece of herself. Not an inch, but enough. More than he had ever had in the span of his life.

(even here there is love in hell love finds us i am loved i am no one but i am loved)

The letter said her name was Valerie. That she loved him. The woman in room Four. She was Four, he was Five. And she loved him. A piece of toilet paper had transmitted the most important message of his life to him. Four met Five.

(no she is not a number she is Valerie and i am not a number i am)

(what am i)

In the glass box to his right, he heard an inhuman howl emanating. He took a small, sick comfort in the fact that the noise was not made by a woman. It had been so long since he had viewed the other subjects as people, instead of noises in the night that kept him from his own brief sleep. He wondered if she was nearby, or back in her cell. He wondered if she knew how much he loved her.

(there is someone else here someone who cares someone for me to care about love survives even here)

He started giggling to himself quietly. The mask of the black bag hid his reactions from the doctors. He was glad of it, glad of the darkness. It hid him from the images of doctors injecting weak, sobbing men and women. It offered a faint protection against the stench of blood and urine and vomit that permeated the glass box. Here he was alone with the noises in his head and Valerie.

(Valerie should be in room five v Valerie room five five for V V fifth letter from the end of the alphabet a prime number v for the universe of all sets, v velocity, Beethoven's Fifth V da da da DUM vV is the Fifth i am the Fifth then i am da da da DUM the end not five not Five vv is the Fifth i am the Fifth then i am)

He let out a sudden cry that shook his entire suffering frame. The doctors, Stanton in particular, moved to observe him. They waited eagerly to see what his reaction to the injection would be. Batch Five. The noise must indicate his response. But they misinterpreted the sound.

It was not a cry of pain, of an animal dying. It was not a cry of fear either. That was gone.

It was a cry of triumph. Of realization. Of victory.

(she has named me not them there are no coincidences she named me gave birth to the idea the man whatever i may be comes from her and this place a bastard union they gave me the number she gave me the letter they took and she gave)

He was shaking uncontrollably. The doctors took notes. He could hear them murmuring to each other very far away. But this had nothing to do with them. This was his body trying to follow the racing of his mind as it escaped. They had nothing to do with him, with this. He was sitting in front of them and miles away.

(if she is Valerie and what is good then i am V not a name a tribute a symbol if i have a name i live and die a symbol does not die so i will be a symbol and they will never kill me because they won't know no name a symbol in honor of her V is not five V is five and not five more than five less than Valerie the middle between human and symbol symbol made flesh v and not v five and not five something else)

He wished, suddenly and desperately, that he could tell her. Let her know what had happened. Let her know he had found her words, and that she was loved. He shifted against the glass wall. Felt his skin sticking to the surface, then peeling off. He did not scream, even as he heard the sound, like wax paper crinkling. If anything, he perceived the sudden dull pain in his arms to be an irritating distraction from what was going on in his mind.

(they took my name they took everything she is all call me v V v Valerie two Vs and we will get through this somehow because we are joined married i belong to her she saved my life even if i die here she has saved me and that must be an inch that is all i needed)

He felt them pull him out of the box. A feeling of supreme calm washed over him. Even as he felt his skin peeling and tearing off, he did not scream or flinch. Not even when they injected him again, drew blood. He did not fight when they peeled off a long strip of skin from his leg for testing. He had other things to deal with.

(they can only kill my outsides not my insides not anything important unless i let them they can't take what i will not give of myself take the pieces of me but the one thing you want from me you will not get call me V and one day there will be a place without darkness)

Chapter Two

When they finally returned him to his cell and removed the bag, most of the skin on his face remained stuck to the bag. The nurses filed out quickly, leaving him only with Dr. Stanton and two guards. The guards who –

(say it words have power but they cannot hurt me nothing can scare me do not give them power even in my mind my mind no not mine but do not give them power they have nothing)

- raped him. And that was accepted. He would fight them. No part of him would go quietly. They had no right, and submission would not solve anything. But it would happen, and his fear would not change that. So there was no need for it. He dismissed it with cold indifference.

(fear is theirs they are fear they use fear i have been afraid all my memories are of fear and pain i reject this life of fear no more i will not use their tools their weapons are dirty and mine are pure no more fear they cannot kill me with fear anymore i have become something more than them i am V and she is Valerie and no one can take that away vVv)

Dr. Stanton was inspecting him strangely. His face, arms, and legs were shiny, as the skin ripped off with the lightest touch. A thin layer of blood covered his face. His arms were still bound behind him. Even his scalp was slowly bleeding. He looked like raw hamburger meat.

But the look on his face was calm. More than calm. He had not accepted death, like all the others around him had. There was not submission in his eyes. There was defiance. An understanding she could not fully comprehend. As if he perceived the significance of her work more than she ever could. And whether she admitted it or not, it scared her.

He regarded her with mild curiosity. She, who had come to symbolize all pain in his mind, the harbinger of torture, was nothing. She had given up her humanity when she took away that of someone else. She was nothing. Stanton could not hurt him without the fear. He saw the fear in her eyes. He felt a moment of pity - the masters with massive armies feel fear at the slightest resistance - but it quickly slipped away into contempt.

(i have valerie i found someone something you cannot touch and that makes me strong in a way you will never understand you have nothing i have everything i do not have a name but it is not needed superfluous symbols do not need names i found a reason)

'How are we feeling, Five?' Her voice was calm, controlled, politely curious. Stanton was making notes on her clipboard, as if today was a regular day. As if today was not the end of her control.

(not five not five vVVVVVV one sound one syllable remember it one day you will know but not now wait it out let her suffer more and less than five a symbol in a body kill the body the symbol remains but not five five is your name not mine)

'The word 'we' implies a unity that does not exist. I am here. You are there. We are nowhere. Here now. New hero.' His voice, as if in response to hers, was steadier than it had been in weeks. He still had trouble connecting his thoughts into cohesive sentences. No matter.

Stanton blinked. He had given her cryptic answers before - a sure sign of his dementia - but never with such... scorn. Such pity. As if he felt badly about all that she would never understand, but would not waste his time trying to explain it to her.

'Then, how are you feeling?' she asked politely, proud of how quickly she recovered. The guards were grinning at the man, but neither he nor the doctor took any notice.

(feelings what do i feel what do you feel what does a symbol feel)

He considered the question, unsure of what she wanted, and of how much he wanted to answer. He had the power, he realized. Theirs was an illusion. His was real. So he decided to discuss what he was interested in. She would listen; he was her favorite, he noted wryly.

'There are five senses,' he said calmly. Stanton frowned, more puzzled by his coherence than what he had actually said.

'Yes, I know that. But what-'

'And five points in a pentagram. An apt germ. Leo is the fifth astrological sign of the Zodiac. Acid oz. Iambic pentameter has five repeating feet per line. Roses have five petals. Roses roses. No roses. Five elements. Roses. No roses. Did you know that? No roses. No you didn't. Nothing. No night.' He idly wondered how he knew such obscure, pointless facts. No coincidences, he decided. He knew this because he was supposed to. Stanton, meanwhile, was desperately trying to follow the conversation.

(five five perfect five V perfect she does not understand no fear)

'This is about your number, I presume?' He let out a snort that was nothing but a sound, meant to alarm her. It succeeded. She looked at him with genuine concern.

'Are you going to start laughing again? I'd rather not have to sedate you, Five, but I will if necessary.' She watched the man grin at her. It was like the laugh: no humor, no joy or happiness, simply a frozen expression that meant nothing. His cold, calm gaze went from her to the two guards then back to her.

(to think that any of these little things could ever cause fear laughable able to laugh all they can do is kill me kill me kill the man in room five kill five that is not so bad they have already done worse they would not kill V i have one inch that i need the man i was is long gone now miles from this corner of hell maybe i will find find him but for now one inch you can call me V)

'Numbers are tools. Archaic. My number is Five. Five Five, six, pick up sticks. Seven goes to heaven. No heaven. No seven. No six. Five, four, three is gone, two is gone, one is gone. And then there were two.' He smirked at her. Stanton was irritated despite herself; yes, her research had not gone quite as planned, and many subjects had been lost, but she had not expected a commentary from one of her own subjects.

(Valerie and V all that is left and we two make V and we are free)

Chapter Three

'You are still here, Five. You are doing great things.' Stanton was unsure if she was soothing him or herself. His face was still bleeding slowly, but his eyes never left her face. She looked down at her clipboard, flipped to a new page.

(hiding behind pages and white coats and straightjackets and guards with guns who hold me down and spit on me when they're done and to think i was scared)

'Your metabolism has become quite extraordinary, Five. You respond to and heal from everything with remarkable speed. I'll admit I've never seen anything like it. But your records show you haven't been eating.' She gave him a severe look over the clipboard that in no way ruffled his countenance. 'If you don't resume ingesting food, your metabolism will suffer, and my results will be inconclusive. Then our only recourse will be to put you on the IV again.' She paused for maximum effect. 'And that was remarkably unpleasant for both of us the last time it was used,' she finished smoothly, trying to find the original power structure between them. But the man in front of her - their only hope in the project, she now knew - seemed to barely be paying attention.

(woman stanton diana a doctor do no harm doctor no doctor who doctor doctor there is nothing to you)

He watched her. V watched her. She was so small. Without the fear to make her large, she was a small woman with a clipboard, nervously clicking her pen. The guards were small, petty creatures. There was nothing to any of this.

'Comparison of our situations is an exercise in the ridiculous. I C U Rid Soul. Heh. Words turned to gibberish. Sigh bribe. You do what you feel you must. As will I. Fair trade. Rare.' He trailed off, and for a moment, Stanton thought he was sinking into one of his catatonic-like states, where for days he would simply drool quietly in the corner. These usually preceded a bout of insane violence, and she quickly tried to draw his attention back.

(free and if i choose i can die i will decide when it ends not them i decide when and how i die i will choose the manner of execution)

'Have you remembered anything since we last spoke, Five?' His eyes returned to her, ancient and ageless and bored as time.

(there is nothing to remember ideas and symbols have no pasts)

'Remember. To member again. One cannot 'member.' Only remember. Memory. More My. It is an illusion. I ill on us. Past is hallucination. Haunt nail coil. Future mere hypothesis. Hope sits shy.' He gave a dismissive shake of his head, then winced slightly at the pain the gesture caused. 'It no longer matters. At Terms. There is no point.' Stanton nodded, and wrote quickly across the page, 'Note: Continued nonsensical speech. Mostly incoherent, but impossible to stop listening.' To the man facing her, she said,

'You're shivering quite badly, Five. Describe your physical responses to the latest treatment.' He made a noise - blowing air through his nose and mouth simultaneously - and smoothly responded.

'Treatment. Rat met ten. There is no one here to describe. Be cried. Only sensations of a corpse. The skin tears like tissue paper at the lightest touch. The stomach ruptures. True spur. The muscles seizure and rebel. The head pains. Mere semantics. Man's cites. You can't see. C. A, B, C, D, E.' He let out another quiet giggle, and once again made that air-noise. Stanton took a note of it, wondering when he had picked up that strange little quirk. She already had more than enough to keep her occupied.

(roses i won't forget to put roses on your grave send me dead flowers they are dead flowers brittle broken roses valerie gave me roses)

'Your speech patterns are more cerebral than before. You're acting differently,' she said suddenly, wondering if he had enough self-awareness at this point to even explain himself. The guards on either side of him seemed bored. The man answered with that same intriguing, infuriating calm.

'Difference implies sameness same old. Sameness means past. Same sane. Seam. Are live. Live real. I reveal. Lie rave. The things that happen here matter. Tamer T. Not in the way you think. You think. I think you think. Delusional you think. Idea null so. No sad lieu.' This response seemed to delight him, and he giggled wildly at his own wit. Stanton sighed in exasperation.

'I don't understand.' Now the man looked at her with excitement, even enjoyment. How could he have changed? Was it the newest injection? Could it have such dramatic side-effects as this? He was hideous, blood caking on his face, skin all but gone, and yet she couldn't look away.

'Exactly. Precisely. Sly recipe. And that is why you will fail.' He let out that mad, wild cackle that Stanton had come to know so well, then shut down. Completely and totally. His eyes glazed over, and he seemed to fold into himself. The conversation was clearly over. But he still had a faint, knowing smile on his blood-stained lips.

Stanton stood up quickly, indicating for the guards to follow. Suddenly the cell seemed far too small to hold whatever was going on inside that man's mind.

But the guards hung back, looking down at the now-silent subject slumped on the floor.

'Do you want us to stay here, Doctor? Make sure he don't get violent?' Her head snapped back to stare at them with a hostility that would have impressed the man under discussion, if he hadn't been so far away. Something in the guard's tone made her nervous; made her stomach flip slowly, nauseatingly. But she pushed those feelings away to answer him.

'We are leaving now. I want him under full observation twenty-four hours, and his rations doubled. No guard may enter or exit this cell without a nurse or doctor in attendance. His sedatives and medication are to be kept at a steady level.' She was aware that the guards were not concerned with most of what she was saying, but in some strange way hoped the man on the floor would hear, and realize she was still in control.

'If he becomes violent again, it will be dealt with. And at the rate his metabolism is going, it will take more than the two of you to control him. Now, I suggest we leave immediately. You don't want him to wake up cranky, now do you?"

The guards followed her with impressive speed, their eyes low. They knew the patient too well for Stanton to take them off the rotation, but at least they would not presume to think that they knew more about her patient than she did.

Stanton knew she would return to this cell tomorrow, whether or not he was recovered. Whatever 'recovered' meant for him at this point. She knew she would spend most of the night poring over what he had said, trying to figure out the pattern. Because there was a pattern; he might even be able to see it. It dangled just beyond her reach.

She made sure the door was closed and locked. Made them double and triple check, in fact. She could still hear that strange, inhuman laugh echoing through her head. She could still hear him saying, with utter and complete conviction, that she would fail.

And for the first time since coming to Larkhill, Dr. Diana Stanton was afraid.

And in a dirty cell in a hidden detention center in a country in chaos, there was a man. A man with no name. A man called V only by himself. A man who was loved by a woman he would never meet. A man with a virus that would destroy a nation growing inside him. A man with a body and mind tortured beyond repair. In a lonely cell, this man found his inch, and was free.


End file.
